


Hold On to What You Believe

by theshinytardis (mojohwrites)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Embedded Images, Gen, Grieving John Watson, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Siblings, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22808503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mojohwrites/pseuds/theshinytardis
Summary: When Harry wants to end it all, John knows he can’t let this happen—for both their sakes.
Kudos: 3





	Hold On to What You Believe

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first fanfic. Wrote this years ago around the end of season 2, originally posted on tumblr.

“Harry, _please_.”

John’s voice strained during the second word, almost cutting off. Harry said nothing; her only response was to continue to stand there on the ledge and shiver, her outfit doing practically-nothing to fight off the winter gusts of wind. Harry tightened her grip on the railing.

“Why are you even here? How’d you find me?” she asked, glancing down at the water below before looking back into his pleading eyes. He was unconsciously rubbing the fingers of his right hand together all the while, but not to keep warm.

“It's a… something I learned from a friend.”

“But _why_ are you here?”

“Because… I’m your brother, and I still care.”

“Yeah, right,” she laughed scornfully, “Did you ever _really_ care? Where were you when Clara left? Where were you when I started drinking? Where were you then?”

His breath huffed out; creating a small misty cloud in the night air–almost like a chuckle, but more like a painful sigh: “I’m here now aren’t I?”

“Come on, Harry. Why don’t you come down from there and we’ll go inside where it’s warm. You have got to be freezing in that outfit.”

As if her body suddenly remembered how cold it was, Harry trembled violently in reply. Worried, John quickly took a step toward her, just in case. In response, she took a step farther out onto the ledge.

“Don’t—” she warned. 

“Harry, your _drunk_. Stop this…” he scolded, momentarily growing frustrated before gently pleading, "Just…just come down from there. Please.“

She said nothing in response, but continued to stare at the water below as her frigid hands gripped the icy railing. John did not like how she was eyeing the water. This wasn’t like Harry—she may have been a drinker, but she had never (or at least _seemed_ to have never) considered suicide before.

“At least tell me what’s going on.”

“Ha,” she laughed, turning back towards her brother, “trying to be a therapist now, are we?”

“If it helps.”

“Why don’t you use that trick you learned, huh? The one you learned from _him.”_

Harry had never—would never—never say _his_ name, but they both knew who she meant. It was like throwing salt in a still-gaping wound and she knew it.

“It wasn't a trick.” John’s voice was a whisper, but whether out of pain or anger Harry couldn’t tell.

“Sure it wa—”

“It wasn’t. You met him Harry… It… It wasn’t a trick. Now stop trying to avoid the issue.”

“I’m just trying to get you to think straight.”

“Says the girl on the ledge.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled; their banter reminding her of better times. She knew that talking about _him_ was still a sore subject for her brother, but she just couldn’t understand his stubborn faith in the ‘suicide genius.’

“Are you going to tell me?”

Harry looked over at her brother, who, despite being in his thirties, still looked so young to her. He had always been the favorite: perfect scores in school, rugby captain—everyone loved him, and everyone was embarrassed by her. But not any longer…

She took a deep gulp and licked her lips, and John could see her resolve starting to build. He knew how stubborn his sister could be once her mind was set on something. So he did something stupid.

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry asked, almost desperately, as her brother climbed over the railing to join her on the ledge.

John gripped the railing tightly and took a shaky breath before turning around, trying not to look down at the water below them. His knuckles were white and he shook slightly.

“Quite the view, huh? I can see why you picked it,” he chuckled, trying his best to sound calm even though his nerves were screaming at him. Heights had never been good for him, and _that day_ had only made it worse——nightmare inducing worse.

“John, go back. You hate heights.” 

He smiled slightly—now he had _her_ worried. Good. Anything to distract her.

“Can’t. I won’t leave you here.” 

Harry stared at her brother, willing him to leave her alone, to go away, to get off the ledge. But despite the fear she knew he must be feeling, Harry could also see a hardness in his eyes that showed he was determined not to leave. She shifted position and shivered, but was less cold now with John standing next to her. The two siblings stood there in silence, like a pair of stone statues looking out over the Thames.

“You going to tell me now?”

But she remained quiet much of her defiance gone now that he was here on this side of the railing. 

“Is it because of Clara?” John asked gently. “I saw her earlier when she came by… What happened?” 

When her silence persisted, he sighed heavily, trying to think of something else to say or do. The next bit came painfully, but the words tumbled out of his mouth without fear or hesitation.

“I don’t care if we’re here all night, but I won’t leave you… I can’t. I’ve seen men die before, Harry. Good men, friends of mine. Thought I’d never sleep again,” he sighed again deeply, wearily. “But if I see another person, just one more person I care about die… I won’t be able to live anymore.“

She glanced at him, but he continued: ”…when Sher— when Sherlock died, there was nothing I could do to stop him. Nothing. I tried to stop him, but he still— he still jumped. He was my best friend, Harry. And now your here… So you can be damned well sure I won’t— can’t ever let you do the same. Even if you hate me for it.” 

Harry realized that she had never heard him talk this openly before—not since the suicide at least.

“John, I’m——”

But whatever she would have said was cut off suddenly by a terrified scream as Harry’s foot slipped on the moist ledge and she began to fall.

Reacting fast and without thought, John quickly let go of the railing with his left hand and stooped low as he swung it around, fortunately catching Harry underneath the arm. He winced as his other wrist, still holding the railing, twisted painfully, but he held on tight. John lifted his sister, one-armed, back up onto the ledge as well as he could, grunting as he leveraged their weight against the railing and they settled back into safety.

It had all happened so quickly that neither one said anything as they shared a moment of heavy, thankful gasps before Harry then broke into uncontrollable sobs.

“I wasn’t— I didn’t want to…” She cried into his shoulder, trembling violently.

“It’s all right… It’s all fine. I’ve got you…” He whispered, making reassuring noises and stroking her head from behind as she cried, gently changing their position on the ledge to a safer, more comfortable one—all the while keeping his other hand firmly clamped to the cold, life-saving metal.

John surprised himself when he realized that he was now quietly crying as well. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed to do so: it was just so… unfamiliar. It had become unfamiliar to do anything but hide his emotions inside; to keep a stiff upper lip and carry on. But as the long-held back tears flowed freely John felt a sort of tranquil calmness come over him—it was as if a huge weight had finally lifted off his chest.

A weight that had cruelly landed there almost six months ago, and had been paining him ever since. It left because tonight was different.

He had been there when it mattered— _really mattered—_ and she was safe, at least for now. John knew there were still going to be tough times ahead, for the both of them, but he also knew that they would be alright. They would make it.

Their wounds would heal eventually.

When Harry eventually began to calm down, John was able to coax her back over the railing and then quickly followed, not trusting his balance for much longer. Which was just as well, as his right leg suddenly gave out when he landed on the other side and he tumbled to the concrete.

Now her turn to be worried, she cried out and quickly reached down to help John stand, but he brushed her hands away–instead he patted the ground next to him, silently gesturing for her to sit. Harry joined her younger brother on the ground, snuggling up next to him like when they were kids.

She patted his leg tenderly and smiled–actually, truly smiled–for the first time in months.

“…You saved me… thank you.” 

In reply, John quietly threw his arm around her shoulders and rested his forehead against hers, sighing deeply.

“Same.”

\- - -

From the darkness of a nearby alleyway, a tall shape moved from its hiding place and made its way towards the street, just in time to watch their cab turn the corner and disappear around the bend. He didn’t know he’d been holding his breath for the last half-hour 'til he was forced to gasp slightly in the cold winter air.

The man was dressed drably, his clothing reflecting hard times—almost in tatters, with several stains here and there, a few of them blood. Pulling out a cheap cell phone, his long fingers quickly typed out and sent a message. 

_[ Situation is fine. Help no longer needed. ]_

Leaning against a wall, he pulled out a single cigarette, fingering it indecisively as his keen eyes watched as a dark, unmarked van pulled away from the curb and drove off. His phone soon chirped in response a moment later:

_[ You’re in London? ]_

Smiling ruefully, the man stared at the message, mulling things over. He then sent another text before dumping the phone—and the cigarette—into a nearby rubbish bin. 

_[ Not anymore. ]_

Pulling his coat closer around him, the world’s only consulting detective disappeared into the night, confident that his best friend would finally start living again.


End file.
